Blue & Orange
by tokeahontas
Summary: That's right! Another damned Divergent High story! Only this time, Four is a student teacher and something evil may or may not be brewing deep in the school, and it may or may not be up to unreliable-narrator Tris to see what's up. Is high school always this complicated?


**A/N: So, you might have heard of my other high school story, _Broken._ This week I was home sick for a day or two, and I decided to write another Divergent High School fanfiction, a bit different from _Broken_. The main differences here are A) Four as a student teacher rather than a peer, B) no underlying romantic subplot (sorry, Peter/Caleb shippers, but they are just friends here), and the big one: C) a lack of serious undertones. Yep. _Blue and Orange_ is a comedy with drama, whereas _Broken_ is a drama with comedy. So don't mix them up. Anyways, here goes.**

* * *

I wake up to the sound of My Chemical Romance.

They're my band right now. I have a new one every two weeks, about. Last week, it was Paramore, but I found myself disillusioned when I listened to their third album on Friday. This week it's Gerard Way I'm in love with.

I drag myself out of bed. Paramore were one of my summer bands, that is. But now it's August 18th, the first day of school.

Why school ends in mid-June and begins in mid-August here, I can't explain. But that's just the way it is. And I've learned not to question it, along with most other things.

I'm a brand new freshman at Roth High in Chicago. I just moved here in July from Toledo. I know, right, Toledo? East Toledo, to be specific, which was ratchet. But I only lived there for four years. My dad's a corporate asshat whose job requires him to move a lot.

It's hard out there for a Beatrice Prior. My record followed me from the eastern time zone, and I am determined - or, my mother is determined - not to be a truant anymore.

I look over the class schedule I received in the mail last week one last time as I grab an apple from the counter.

_P.E. - Coach Amar_

_English III - Mrs. Clark_

_Statistics - Mr. Green_

_French I - Ms. Wu_

_Biological Science - Ms. Matthews_

_AP US History - Mr. Martinez_

Nice. Probably not the worst schedule, but not the best, especially since I have a tendency to sleep during my last few classes.

"Good bye, Beatrice," my mother says and kisses my forehead as I exit. My brother, Caleb, places a hand on my back, guiding me out gently.

It's funny how opposite Caleb and I are. I'm a truant with a love of punk bands and hi-tops. And Caleb is… Caleb. He's a student government official and two-time Academic Decathlon champion.

I don't know why I wrote all of that in present-tense. Maybe because it feels like it's happening right now. I remember that day clearly. The day my life began.

But that was two months ago.

And I am now Tris Prior, Queen of Roth High, Protector of the Junior Class.

No. But I do have friends, and lots of them, and my life is a big, jumbled mess. What else can you expect from high school, though?

I smile at the thought. That's clever.

My eyes flit up, and Uriah smiles back at me, like he's reading my mind. His eyes are deep, chocolate brown.

My smile widens and my cheeks get a little warm.

"Ms. Prior," calls a voice.

I look up. Mr. Eaton, the student teacher for Mr. Green, is staring straight at me, his eyes impenetrable, like a fortress.

"Yes?" I say easily, twirling a pencil in my hand like it's nothing, but it is something. Eaton is handsome, but he's a jerk. He doesn't look old enough to be a teacher. Maybe he's on assignment, like that asshat Eric. Either way, I don't like him.

"Maybe you'd be able to pay more attention if you'd stop making googly-eyes at Uriah?"

My cheeks warm up, and some scattered laughs rise. A clique of girls at the front stares at me.

I won't get angry. I won't. I won't hurt them.

The bell rings a few seconds later, and as I'm filing my books into my bag, Caleb's voice chimes.

"Beatrice," he says chidingly, like he always does; reprimanding me.

"Yes?" I ask, pen in my mouth.

"Listen, I… I don't want you hanging around Uriah. He could get you into trouble, you know." Uriah is now gone, having waved to me on his way out.

I snap around, my hair swishing audibly.

"So I can't hang around with Uriah, but you get to bro around with Peter Hayes?" I nod to the boy next to him, two rows over me, who is staring at his notebook with his mouth ajar, like a complete idiot.

"Hey," Caleb says sharply, "Peter Hayes is my Best Dude Forever."

Peter Hayes smirks at me from next to Caleb. I thought I was Caleb's complete opposite, but as usual, Peter beat me to it. He's captain of the water polo team, may or may not have a drug habit, and is a douchebag. Well, that last one the two may have in common.

Caleb holds up his half of the heart-shaped. "BESTIE" necklace. Peter shines his in my face. I think I see him wink, but I wouldn't know, the twenty-four-carat Claire's necklace burns holes into my eyes.

I stand up, clutching my bag. Both of them are taller than me, but I don't care. I push them apart and then leap over Peter's seat so that I stand in the next row. I begin to walk out. That was probably stupid of me to jump over a whole row, but who cares? I don't.

The hallway smells like sweat.

The tops of lockers are adorned with balloons in blue and orange, our school colors. Black and blue would have been better, in my opinion, but I guess not. Homecoming is next week. Yeah, my school is one of those schools that has homecoming in October.

I sniff my armpit to make sure I'm not contributing to the stench - clear - and rip my jacket off. My shirt has a roundel with The Who's logo on it. I'm about them this week. My shirt came in from Amazon yesterday.

"_Bonjour_," a voice greets from next to me. I nearly jump, my heart racing.

It's just Christina, though. Christina is my only black friend, I don't really know why, though. She's tall and talkative, but she offers good and honest advice.

"Christina," I say, sighing, "we're not actually in French class yet."

"I like to be prepared," she says. Her voice is high and is pissing me off more than usual. I roll my eyes.

I chafe more when she says, "Who peed in your Cheerios this morning?"

I scoff. "The captain of the water polo team."

She laughs, and this time, I'm not as annoyed. "God, that kid is pure evil. In sixth grade I heard a rumor that he kills birds to vent his bloodlust."

I snort. "Not so much 'evil' as 'my brother's new best friend'."

"Caleb? And _him_?"

I nod. "Speaking of jerks, the damn student teacher in Green's class could vie with Peter for the title of Douche of the Year."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"I smiled in Uriah's general direction and he has to go and point me out in front of the whole class. I hate it when teachers make damn examples out of their students. You teach us how to be molded and controlled and to listen, not to feel humiliated."

Her eyebrows turn up in impressment. "Nice speech. You're like the new Che Guevara."

She says 'Che Guevara' with perfect execution. Christina has a knack for languages - she's easily passing immersion French, whereas I'm scraping by with a C-.

"Bonjour, madamoiselles," says our French teacher as we walk in. Madame Lange is a wacky blonde lady who looks like Stevie Nicks and reminds me of the Divination teacher from the third Harry Potter movie. Today she has on a top hat and round sunglasses. I can't decide if she looks more like Abraham Lincoln or John Lennon.

"Bonjour, Madame," says Christina with an easy smile. I manage a 'Salut'.

Christina and I take our seats at one of the round tables in the middle of the classroom. Across from me sits a purple-haired girl called Marlene and next to her is a blond boy named Will.

"Al est absent aujourd'hui, oui?" Madame Lange asks once everyone has taken their seats.

"Oui," says Christina simply.

"C'est mon sentiment," adds Will coolly.

Marlene and I give each other strange glances. Christina and Will are both shining stars when it comes to this class, and neither of us are. It's French One, for God's sake. I roll my eyes.

The rest of the period zooms by, but something still holds my mind - Mr. Eaton. It embarrasses me to think about it, but maybe there was something deeper going on when he snapped at me. He was so… fierce about it, so loud. It's pretty clear to most people that Uriah and I aren't dating. So why would he yell at me like that?

I want to get an answer, so I will.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you liked it! Here are some translations in case you are like my boyfriend and don't know any French.**

_Al est absent aujourd'hui, oui?_ - "Al is absent today, yes?"

_C'est mon sentiment_ - "That's my guess."


End file.
